Diversions
by Photogirl1890
Summary: Set between episodes 4x26 "Hope and Fear" and 5x01 "Night". It's New Year's Eve, 2374. Tom and Neelix have organised a party, but not everyone is feeling in the mood.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Diversions by Photogirl1890**

A/N: this story is set between 4x26 "Hope and Fear" and 5x01 "Night"

Many thanks to Mary S for beta-reading. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own. Feedback is welcome.

Rated T for minor coarse language and minor suggestive adult themes.

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**Chapter one **

Captain Kathryn Janeway stood in her ready room, drinking her third cup of coffee since lunchtime and observing the planet looming large in the windows.

The class-M world had shown up on sensors three days ago as a likely source of gallicite deposits. The rare mineral was always at the top of B'Elanna's wish list when it came to scouting for supplies, and as much as the captain wanted to see the distance behind them rack up on _Voyager_'s flight recorder, she had ordered a change of course to take a closer look.

After the incident with Arturis a week ago, she'd given strict instructions that her tired and emotionally-drained crew take some 'R and R'. Mining for gallicite wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind for crew recreation, but at least with a Minshara-class planet came the possibility of shore leave.

As _Voyager_ had dropped out of warp and headed in-system, the main viewscreen had displayed the expected 'blue marble': continents of ochre and various shades of green divided the oceans; brilliant white clouds obscured some of the terrain. As _Voyager_ had entered orbit and began imaging the surface in its entirety, the planet's remarkable resemblance to Earth had taken the captain's breath away.

Ice caps covered both poles but the northern pole was basically a frozen ocean, in contrast to the polar continent in the south. The planet's land area was concentrated to the north of its equator, with the tips of two continents protruding into the southern hemisphere. A large, arid island continent that Tom Paris had designated 'New Australia' sat below the equator, surrounded by smaller, greener archipelagos.

The Earth-like vista was accentuated by the planet's single, large satellite: a crater-pocked, geologically inactive ball of rock that analysis had revealed to be composed of a primarily anorthosite crust, with a mafic mantle and small iron-rich core, eerily similar to Earth's Moon.

They hadn't named the planet – 'New Earth' was already taken, after all – and the decision whether to allow a mining operation had become a conundrum when scans had detected the life-signs of a proto-humanoid species living on the same continent in which the richest sources of ore were located. The Prime Directive had to be considered.

The problem of whether the Neanderthal-like primates should be categorised as animals or a sentient people had been a difficult one to grapple with. Surveillance from orbit had shown the creatures using tools and building wooden shelters, but those traits alone were insufficient to classify them as sentient.

B'Elanna had argued vociferously that she be allowed to procure the gallicite. Tuvok had come down on the opposing side; he had all forty-seven sub-orders of the Prime Directive committed to memory. Chakotay had reasoned that the limited exploration and extraction they intended would not constitute interference.

Ensign Wildman - _Voyager'_s only specialist xenobiologist - had been consulted and with the Doctor's enthusiastic assistance, she'd prepared her report. Upon the reading of it, Janeway had made the decision to allow the away mission, with the proviso that those assigned to it stay far from visual range of the proto-humanoids and leave no evidence in their wake.

As a concession to the hordes of disappointed crewmen who'd been looking forward to shore leave, Chakotay had persuaded her to allow small groups to beam down for a short period under the open skies. The allocated transport site was on a remote island, devoid of any large animals. The visitors were to take nothing with them and the visible evidence they had left behind - footprints on the sandy beaches - would be washed away with the next incoming tide.

According to Tuvok, however, a forensic examination of the area would detect shed hair and skin particles; it would also detect the microbes commensal to the human, Bajoran, Talaxian and other species' bodies, that might have contaminated the air. Would those bacteria and fungi establish themselves in their new environment? Would they affect the natural evolution of the planet's biosphere? Tuvok determined that they "could not exclude the possibility". Janeway hoped he was being overly cautious in his assessment. With no animal life in the vicinity there was minimal risk. And to how many other 'uninhabited' planets had she authorised away missions? If a planet was deemed unoccupied by sentient life and not known to be in the territory of another warp-capable civilisation, she didn't give the non-interference clause a second thought. But cell residue and micro-organisms had been left on worlds from here to Ocampa. In this case, crew morale had trumped the purity of the prehistoric wilderness. The door mechanism bleeped, interrupting her contemplations.

"Come in," she called, turning away from the planetscape.

Chakotay breezed in from the bridge, carrying a stack of PADDs in one hand. He retained one of them, placing the rest on the desktop.

"Captain," he greeted her. "I've been trying to contact you from transporter room two. Is your combadge broken?"

Instinctively she looked down to her chest. The badge appeared undamaged, but perhaps a micro-component was malfunctioning.

"I don't know," she said. "It worked a moment ago when I contacted Tuvok on the bridge." She added it to her mental list of tasks for the day and assured him, "I'll get someone to look into it."

She placed her empty cup on the desk and stepped up to the sitting area. Perching on the edge of the couch, she gestured for him to come and join her. He did so and began his report.

"I thought you'd like to know that the last party to go down for shore leave has beamed back aboard," he said, stealing a glance out of the window at the blue glow beyond.

"The mining team has beamed up half a kiloton of gallicite," he continued. "B'Elanna says that's the amount she needs to refit all the failing warp coils with some to spare."

"And they've left no sign of the extraction?"

"The vein of ore they tapped is fifteen kilometres deep. Thanks to the transporter modifications, there are no visible traces of the operation on the surface."

Janeway nodded her approval, "Good." She trusted the chief engineer and her team to carry out their captain's orders to the letter, but hearing from Chakotay that everything had gone to plan was reassuring. Chakotay studied her intently, and she recognised his expression as one of worry. Worry for her, specifically. She raised an eyebrow, bemused.

"Out with it, Commander."

He tipped his head in the direction of the window. "It's not too late to get some fresh air yourself, you know," he nagged, gently. "There's still an hour of daylight left at the landing site."

She was the only one on board who'd neglected to take her shore leave allocation. She should have known it wouldn't go unnoticed or without comment from him. Even Seven had spent an hour on the surface yesterday, albeit at the Doctor's insistence.

"No," Janeway insisted, with a slight shake of her head, "I'm fine."

Chakotay looked ready to press the issue then seemed to think better of it. She hadn't expected him to give up so easily but as she was in no mood for a debate, she was thankful that he had.

The beautiful world below was a tortuous hint of the home she wondered if she'd ever see again; the home that a week ago had seemed within her grasp. The quantum slipstream technology acquired had seemed so promising. Despite her well-founded scepticism, she'd let herself get briefly carried along on a wave of optimism with the rest of the crew.

"Well," he said, "_Voyager _will be ready to leave orbit tomorrow." He smiled and the lines of concern were erased from his handsome face. "Let's hope tonight's party won't result in too many sore heads."

She'd almost forgotten about the party. "That's why we have synthehol," she remarked.

"True, but Neelix has other plans."

He handed her the PADD that he'd omitted to place on the desk. "His requisition for extra replicator rations and foodstuffs from stores - for your approval. I said I'd pass it along as I was on my way here."

She scanned the list on the tiny screen: one hundred tomatoes from airponics, forty onions, six hundred units of replicator rations for various foodstuffs and some concoction called 'mulled wine', which appeared to contain real alcohol. Well, the Doctor could take care of any intoxication-related problems quickly enough. She nodded and rose. Chakotay got to his feet also, interpreting that the conversation was at a close. She handed him back the PADD.

"Request approved," she said. "Tell Mister Neelix, I'm expecting him to put on a feast. And would you mind looking in on Tom? He asked me if I'd like a sneak preview but I really want to finish what I'm doing here."

Chakotay nodded. "Of course." He hesitated before adding, "I will see you there tonight, won't I?"

"I'll be there," she replied, knowing that her lack of enthusiasm was blatant.

He passed no comment on it, merely smiling again and she felt her mood lift – slightly – in response. As the doors swished shut behind him, she retreated behind her desk.

Neelix and Tom had come to her yesterday afternoon and proposed holding a New Year's Eve celebration. There wasn't much for the helmsman to do on the bridge whilst the ship was in orbit, so she'd given him free rein to work on a suitable holodeck program, with Neelix assigned to organise the catering.

Her original intentions had been for _Voyager _to resume her journey as soon as all personnel and materials were back on board, but again she'd heeded Chakotay's advice. He'd reminded her of her insistence on extended R and R for the crew earlier in the week and persuaded her to wait until the next morning, so that most of the crew could take a night off and attend the party together. They needed to let off steam. Three hundred light years, they'd travelled during their hour in the slipstream. In comparison to the dizzying velocities of the slipstream, standing still felt like moving backwards. She sighed, turned her back to the room's long windows, grabbed a PADD from the set Chakotay had left her, and began to work.


	2. Chapter 2

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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**Chapter two **

Harry cursed as he crawled backwards out of the EPS conduit he'd been investigating in main engineering. A sharp sting had pierced the skin on the top of his head. He felt warm blood trickle through his hair and down his forehead, slowed by an eyebrow before it dripped onto his sleeves and hands. Someone had carelessly left a damaged edge of sheeting hanging down from the ceiling of the crawl space. The same person, he suspected, that had failed to properly repair the faulty wiring inside. Perhaps unfairly, his suspicions fell to one of the former Maquis crewmen. Dalby perhaps, or Jackson. Both had a reputation for leaving jobs half-finished. B'Elanna should be keeping a closer eye on them, taking them to task. Then again, he should have spotted it himself on his way into the conduit. He'd been too busy wondering what Tom was up to in holodeck two.

A pair of long, slim legs came into his peripheral vision as he wriggled through the conduit hatch and a curt voice said, "Ensign Kim. You are damaged." _As if he hadn't noticed._

To her credit, Seven of Nine moved to assist him as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with one hand and balance with the other. Her metal-enhanced fingers gripped his biceps tightly and pulled him to his feet with ease.

"Thanks, Seven."

She guided him to a chair and her strong arms pushed him into it. She stood over him, her ample bosom close to his face as she examined his wound dispassionately. Harry squirmed with embarrassment, seeing Nicoletti and Boylan looking over at him with interest. Everyone knew he'd had a crush on Seven, but he was over that now. Had been for months. He didn't even find her that attractive, any more.

"It is only a minor laceration," Seven concluded and her chest vacated his line of sight as she reached for the emergency medkit mounted on a nearby bulkhead.

"That's all right, Seven," Harry said, with a rush of anxiety. Seven wasn't exactly known for her nursing skills. "I'll go see the Doc."

"That will be unnecessary, Ensign. I can treat you here," she said, opening the medkit. "There is no need to neglect your assignment. In the time it would take you to get to sickbay, I will have sealed the wound." As she rummaged in the medkit, her expression, so confident a moment ago, was now a picture of consternation.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked.

"The dermal regenerator is missing." Seven complained. She thrust a gauze pad into his hand. "Apply pressure to the wound."

Harry wondered if the relief he felt was obvious to her. "I'll just go down to sickbay. I won't be gone long," he said, getting to his feet. "Besides, I need to change my uniform. I can't go around covered in blood."

Seven didn't appear to have heard him, though with her superior auditory abilities, Harry knew that she had and she'd chosen not to acknowledge his words. To her, personal appearance was 'irrelevant'.

"This is an emergency aid station," she lectured. "The medkit should be fully stocked at all times."

She was right, of course. "I'll get a replacement from sickbay while I'm there," Harry assured her.

"See that you do," Seven said, as if it was his fault the dermal regenerator was missing.

It might have been wiser to get the hell out of engineering and down to sickbay without further delay but Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "What are you doing down here anyway?" he asked her. "I thought you were busy mapping this new area of space we've found ourselves in."

"I am, but I need to divert power from engineering to astrometrics. I deemed it wise to ask Lieutenant Torres first and I thought if I approached her in person, she might be more amenable."

Perhaps Seven was learning some people skills after all, Harry thought.

"B'Elanna's on the holodeck," he said. "She asked if I'd lend a hand down here while she runs a simulation on the warp coil efficiency ratios. She said she didn't want to be disturbed. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

Seven raised her eyebrows and defiantly tapped her combadge. "Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres." Harry winced in anticipation of the coming storm but morbid curiosity kept him rooted to the spot.

"_Torres here. What is it Seven?" _B'Elanna sounded on edge today, even by her usual standards.

"I wish to speak with you, Lieutenant," Seven said, evenly.

"_About what? I'm very busy right now."_

"Astrometrics requires an additional three terawatts of power. I plan to re-route it from engineering section alpha-"

"_Fine. Take whatever you need. Torres out."_

Harry and Seven looked at each other. Whilst Seven's expression was restrained, Harry could tell she was as surprised as he was at the absence of protest from the chief engineer.

"I'd get to it before she changes her mind," Harry said.

"A wise suggestion, Ensign."

The pair walked out of engineering to the turbolift together, requested the appropriate decks and waited for the lift to carry them to their respective destinations.

"Are you looking forward to the party tonight?" Harry asked, politely. The more friendly chit-chat she was the recipient of, the quicker she'd learn how to reciprocate. At least that's how he saw it. He saw no benefit in the strategy many of the others took, which was to keep contact with her to a minimum.

Seven looked at him with her trademark expression of disdain. "I am not, but the Doctor has requested that I accompany him."

The lift arrived at deck ten, home of astrometrics. "Then I'll see you later," he said. She exited with a polite nod, leaving him to travel onwards to sickbay alone.


	3. Chapter 3

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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**Chapter three**

After checking with Tuvok that he was still willing to command the forthcoming night shift, Chakotay headed down to holodeck two. Chakotay had worked the roster so that the maximum number of crewmen were off duty for the evening. He'd been concerned that the captain might seek to replace one of the unlucky few who'd drawn the short-straw herself. She wouldn't like the thought of anyone missing out.

Luckily, Tuvok was taking Harry Kim's bridge duty and several of the other non-humans aboard had volunteered to switch shifts with their human comrades. Chakotay had incorporated the changes where possible. It was, after all, only New Year's Eve on the Earth calendar. The Vulcans, Bajorans and other non-Terran species would have a chance to honour their own cultural traditions when the time arose.

The captain's demeanour concerned her first officer. He'd noticed a subtle shift in her mood over the previous couple of days. It was unlike her not to get off the ship when an opportunity presented itself. She usually jumped at the chance to visit a new planet.

Initially, she'd appeared heartened at the distance _Voyager_ had gained using the slipstream but now it seemed the feeling had worn off and she was mulling over what might have been. Chakotay wondered if it wouldn't be better to resign themselves to spending the next sixty years getting home. Surely that had to beat building up hopes only to be crushed time and time again. He thought of the discovery of the transwarp drive, the Barzan wormhole, and all the other possibilities for a faster trip home that hadn't worked out.

He'd not had a chance to speak to her at length since the incident with Arturis and the slipstream drive. Their weekly dinners had become less frequent over the last few months; since the messages from the Alpha Quadrant had arrived, now that he thought of it. She'd found time to play velocity with Seven and run her Da Vinci programme on the holodeck, but various events had cropped up to disrupt their dinner schedule. He was going to have to make a concerted effort to get them back into their routine. He'd alter the duty roster if he needed to, to make sure of it.

In the days following the letters from home, he'd expected to follow up on the conversation he'd had with her in the ready room, when she'd told him her engagement was over. But she'd not mentioned her letter since and hadn't asked him again about his, the letter in which he'd learnt that the Maquis were no more. Then again, he and B'Elanna hadn't spoken much either since hearing the dreadful news.

In the holodeck, Chakotay found Tom Paris looking rather pleased with himself. Tom's handiwork had transformed the room into an Edinburgh public park. Ornamental shrubs and borders of vibrant flowers surrounded lawns and paved areas. Recreations of ancient statues and monuments taken from images in _Voyager_'s library, were dotted around. Picnic benches were laid out on the grass and a large pile of tinder and logs formed an unlit pyre in the central plaza. Chakotay had seen Tom's initial plans sketched out on a PADD, but they didn't do justice to the completed program.

"It looks great," Chakotay said.

"Of course, it'll be simulated night-time for the party," Tom explained. "And colder than it is right now. I'm just putting in the finishing touches."

Tom scrolled through a read-out on the PADD in his hand. "Computer, display primary control port."

An access panel appeared in place of a wrought iron sculpture to Chakotay's left, making him jump. Tom keyed in commands and an ice rink materialised, complete with skating holograms. Suitably impressed, Chakotay told him, "I'll leave you to it."

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It was not essential for the first officer to make the rounds of each department on the ship but Chakotay felt that a personal appearance showed he was taking an interest in the work of his subordinates. The exercise didn't do him any harm either. So, after leaving the holodeck, he paid a visit to cargo bay one, where engineering and science teams worked on processing the ore that filled the bay. Assured that everything was running smoothly, he moved on to sickbay, where he found the Doctor treating Harry Kim and was relieved to find that the young ensign's head injury was less serious than his bloodied uniform suggested.

Neelix was hard at work in the galley and the ebullient Talaxian became even more so when Chakotay relayed to him the captain's approval of his requisitions. That left engineering and astrometrics. Chakotay and B'Elanna had worked together long enough that he knew better than to check up on her without good reason. He was sorely tempted to bypass astrometrics as well, but as much as Seven rankled him, she was still new to working in a hierarchy and a periodic reminder that she was accountable to others wouldn't go amiss.

He found her waist deep in the floor, rearranging power conduits under the deck plating, grey carpet tiles stacked up neatly to one side. She glanced up to see who had forayed into her territory and seemed eager to see him, hauling herself up and to her feet in one fluid motion. Her enthusiasm at his presence was an ominous sign.

"Commander," she greeted him. "I have encountered a problem."

Chakotay steeled himself to hear what she had to say then shook off his trepidation. It couldn't be that serious or Seven would already have summoned the captain down to the lab.

"I must inform Captain Janeway at once," she added.

And there it was. Chakotay raised a hand to stop her as she went for her combadge, suddenly very glad that he'd bothered to check in on the former drone and marvelling at his timing. If he could deflect any aggravation away from the captain then he'd do so. Thankfully, Seven picked up on his signal before she uttered a word.

"Wait," he told her, stepping around the hole in the deck plates to her side. "What sort of problem?"

She turned to the workstation that controlled the display on the holographic wall screen. "I am having difficulty compiling the astrometric charts that the captain requested."

"For our course ahead?"

"Yes. Sensors are only functioning at sixty-nine percent efficiency. I have isolated the source of the problem. It appears there was a feedback surge in the power conduits as we exited the slipstream. I am attempting to bypass the damage but I will need to take the sensor grid offline for approximately twelve hours. Please assign an engineering team to assist me."

Chakotay frowned, taking in the implications of what she'd told him. The work she had planned was essential but not urgent. "It'll have to wait until tomorrow, Seven," he said. "I can't let you take the sensor grid offline now. The party starts in just over three hours. There'll only be a skeleton crew on duty tonight."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps some off-duty crewmen can be called upon."

"They're off duty for a reason. The captain wanted everyone to have as much R and R as possible after last week."

"Then perhaps the party can simply be postponed until tomorrow night."

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's a New Year's Eve party. New Year's Eve is tonight, not tomorrow."

"Then you are refusing to provide me with the resources I need to perform my duties," she intoned.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, incredulous.

"I cannot finish my work without taking the sensor grid offline. It would be inadvisable to take the sensor grid offline while _Voyager_ is travelling at warp. Therefore, it is only logical to use the time that _Voyager_ remains in orbit of this planet to complete the work."

Seven looked at him as he considered his next action, with no evidence in her posture of the impatience her voice was betraying. The mismatch between her body language and her speech was disconcerting - at times, even eerie.

He shook his head. "Don't misunderstand me, Seven. I realise your work is important but a few hours won't make much difference. Tomorrow, you'll have all the resources you need."

He wasn't being intentionally obstructive. All non-essential personnel were scheduled to go off duty at nineteen hundred hours. He couldn't let Seven go ahead with her plans without telling at least a dozen crewmen that they would have to work tonight, after all.

"I understand that Captain Janeway wishes _Voyager_ to resume course for the Alpha Quadrant at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow," Seven snapped. "If you do not allow me to proceed, there will be a delay in _Voyager _leaving orbit. Captain Janeway will not be happy. I must speak to her."

"The captain also gave everyone strict instructions to take some time off for recreation. That includes you."

Seven would not relent. "I do not understand," she said, her ire rising further. "There is a problem. The region of space ahead is particularly opaque to sensor readings. I need the sensors to be functioning at optimal in order to provide-."

Chakotay cut her off, his patience wearing thin. "And they will be," he interjected. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is not good enough. The captain will wish to know about this!"

He wondered how someone so knowledgeable and quick to learn could fail to master basic human niceties and control her tone of voice. Well, he could be blunt too.

"Listen! You may not be disappointed that the slipstream drive didn't get us home, but in case you hadn't noticed, the captain and most of the rest of the crew are. Tom and Neelix have worked hard to organise the party tonight and I don't want anything short of a red alert situation getting in the way of the captain and her crew enjoying themselves. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she replied. "You wish to bury your head in the sand."

"What?" he said, raising his voice for the first time.

"Like an ostrich," she said, coolly. "The Doctor has been teaching me some human idioms. Humans often ignore obvious signs of danger in the futile hope that the problem will go away."

She was completely missing his point. Chakotay bit back a less than diplomatic retort, took a deep, calming breath and decided that the next time B'Elanna came to him with a gripe about Seven's behaviour, he'd be more sympathetic.

"Nothing you've told me suggests that _Voyager_ is in imminent danger," he said, evenly. "And it's not critical that you understand my reasoning as long as you follow my orders." He backed away from the workstation and prepared to leave before she riled him up any further.

She relented, climbing back down into the pit in the floor and going back to re-routing cables, as if he was no longer there. She must have calculated that it was a more efficient use of her time to stop talking and get on with her work. That suited him just fine. He was going anyway.

He decided not to inform the captain of tomorrow's delay. He didn't want to risk her deciding to curtail any of the crew's recreation, or her own for that matter. She might be a little peeved with him in the morning but he could justify his actions. She _had_ insisted on extended R and R.

He hoped Seven was over-reacting. The captain had told him that she and Seven had been butting heads, recently. It seemed that Seven had decided to test the first officer's patience as well.


	4. Chapter 4

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Chapter four **

The Princes Street Gardens thrummed with good spirits. Boots crunched on the thin layer of snow that now covered the lawns and footpaths. The large bonfire gave off enough heat to keep the shivers at bay for those standing in its immediate vicinity. In fact, most of the hundred-plus beings present had gravitated towards the warmth and light of the fire. Sodium-discharge lamps mounted on tall, concrete poles lit the periphery but being a simulation, the lights from the rest of the city were absent, keeping light pollution to a minimum. The Aurora Borealis was visible in the night sky – a fitting backdrop for the firework show later, Tom thought, even though it wasn't often visible from the city.

The party had been going for just under an hour and most of the crewmen who were able to attend had already arrived. A dozen or so revellers slid around the ice rink with varying degrees of competence. Lieutenant Baxter raced laps around the perimeter with disregard for anyone who got in his way. Tom hoped he wasn't going to have an accident. The holodeck safeties would soften the landing of anyone who fell on the ice, but if Baxter collided with someone at speed, it would hurt. At least the Doctor was on hand.

The fog of conversation was visible in the chill air as Captain Janeway exchanged pleasantries with Samantha and Naomi Wildman. In stark contrast, the Doctor's holographic nature was evident as he chatted with Billy Telfer – _consulted_ might be a better word, Tom chuckled to himself.

The Delaney sisters had already been back to their quarters twice to fetch thicker coats and winter headgear. It wasn't as if Tom hadn't warned them. On the day's edition of _A Briefing With Neelix _he'd been quite explicit that everyone should dress for Scottish winter – traditional costumes optional.

Tom had programmed an old Earth catering facility known as a "hot dog van" into the scene, from which Neelix - wearing a Tam O'Shanter cap and tartan apron - was hanging out of a side hatch, serving food and beverages. Replicated meat products sizzled on the grill and were folded into bread rolls when cooked. A holocharacter could have undertaken the task, freeing up the Talaxian to mingle with the crowds, but Neelix had insisted on performing his customary role. That way, he'd reasoned, he could ensure he spoke to every single crewman at least once before the night was through. They'd all want to eat sometime.

Hogmanay, the Scots called the New Year festivities. Tom hadn't got all the details quite as he wanted them; in truth, the celebrations he had planned were fairly generic to many 20th or 21st century Earth cultures. But Edinburgh had seemed a good setting for the party, and lacking much time to create the program, he'd embellished a standard park simulation with local scenery and weather. The imposing shape of Edinburgh castle, lit up by thousands of fairy lights, dominated the skyline to the south, although it was beyond the playable limits. Under a bandstand, a bald, blue holodeck character bedecked in tartan played folk music on a set of bagpipes.

Tom was pleased to see that he wasn't the only party-goer who'd made the effort to wear a traditional Scottish costume. He'd chosen a green and black tartan for his own kilt. Others wore greys and yellows. Crewman Hamilton wore a red, blue and white clan design that he claimed his own Gaelic ancestors had worn hundreds of years ago.

B'Elanna had eschewed 'fancy dress' as she called it, but Harry had been keen to get in the party mood – at least until he'd realised quite how cold it would be.

"You know what this party needs?" Harry yelled into Tom's ear, over the music and chatter. The two men loitered beside the hot dog van. It stood on a slight rise, from where they had a good view across the park.

"What's that?"

"Sunshine and a swimming pool."

"Oh come on, Harry," Tom drawled. "You're just sore because I got to spend the last two days writing this holoprogram while you had to help out in engineering."

Harry scowled, "Well, did you have to make it so cold in here?"

"What were you expecting? It's Scotland in December! Besides, if I made it warmer, the holographic snow would melt into holographic water and we'd be standing in mud."

Tom refused to admit that he was feeling the chill himself, but the kilt was a little drafty in the knee area. Maybe he'd adjust that North Sea wind in a minute.

"Well, maybe you could have taken some liberties with the details. Did it have to be quite so realistic?"

"Oh, he's taken liberties," B'Elanna interjected, arriving with two steaming cups of coffee. "You don't think they had Bolians on Earth in the 20th century, do you?" She tipped her head in the direction of the piper.

"I was trying to make it less human-centric," Tom protested, taking a cup from her. He noted that aside from Chell, Golwat and Neelix, all of the attendees were human. Maybe the Bolian piper was a step too far. The calypso band from the Paxau resort program might have been more lively.

"How did you get on with your warp coil sim?" Harry was asking B'Elanna.

Tom interrupted before she could reply, "No shop talk, guys. This is a party, not an engineering conference."

"It's a shame Mister Tuvok couldn't make it," Neelix called over to them, as the music lulled between songs. Neelix's affinity for the Vulcan was touching but Tom couldn't understand why he invested quite so much into a one-sided friendship.

"Well, somebody had to take command of the night shift," Harry answered, "and I know Tuvok would prefer to be on the bridge than socialising."

Tom took a swig of his coffee. He'd move on to something stronger when he'd fully acclimated. The smell of the hot food was making his stomach rumble but when he suggested to B'Elanna that they grab a bite, she declined.

"Are you feeling all right?" Tom asked her, placing a hand on her arm. She seemed to stiffen at the contact and he drew his hand back to his cup.

"Fine. I'm just not hungry yet," she said, testily.

Tom knew better than to press her further. If she was cross with him about something, she'd soon let him know. Best to give her some space if she was in that kind of mood. It was probably just her Klingon side asserting itself over some minor annoyance earlier in the day. Or female hormones. Or maybe both - a formidable combination. Oh well, it would be best to eat _after_ skating anyway. He downed the rest of his coffee, dumped the empty cup on Neelix's counter and clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Let's go and see if we can make Baxter look like an amateur."

Turning to B'Elanna, and knowing the answer before he asked the question, he said, "Are you coming?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks," and by the time Tom reached the ice rink and donned his skates, he saw her talking to Chakotay and Ayala.


	5. Chapter 5

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Chapter five**

Tuvok sat in the captain's chair, alert to the background hum of the night shift officers going about routine business, yet focused on the tactical logs he reviewed on a PADD.

He was not expecting anything or anyone to divert him from his reading tonight. Thus, when Seven of Nine arrived on the bridge, he was mildly surprised. She approached, standing closer than human etiquette would deem comfortable, demanding his attention.

"Commander, I must speak with you."

Tuvok set down the PADD he'd been looking at and rose, forcing her to take a step back.

"How can I be of assistance?"

Seven glanced around the bridge then back to Tuvok. "It would be better if I spoke to you in private," she said. Tuvok raised an eyebrow. If Seven thought the matter in question required discretion then surely it must do. She wasn't one to play safe when it came to tact.

"Please." Tuvok indicated that she should proceed to Captain Janeway's ready room. He followed her, commanding the young Bajoran at the operations console, "Ensign Tabor, you have the bridge." In the unlikely event of an emergency, Tuvok could be back in the captain's chair in five point three seconds.

The door hissed shut, cutting them off from the bridge. Seven proceeded to recount the conversation she had had with Commander Chakotay, earlier in the day. Her interpretation of the commander's instruction was scathing.

"I have completed as much of the work as I can without assistance," she told him. "I cannot proceed any further without taking down the sensor grid. I would welcome your opinion on how best to proceed."

Tuvok considered how logic determined he should act. Commander Chakotay's decision not to grant Seven her request for help had been made from an emotional standpoint, as had his insistence that she not inform the captain of the situation. No doubt the commander had the captain and crew's best interests at heart when he had given Seven her instructions, but had he adhered to protocol by making that decision on the captain's behalf? Tuvok had no emotional impairment but he was not ignorant of his comrades' feelings.

"I would need a very good reason to countermand the instructions of a superior officer," he told Seven.

"But I am not a Starfleet officer," she pointed out.

"You are not. However, there is a chain of command on this ship that you must respect. If you wish to keep the privileges that have been extended to you by Captain Janeway, then you must 'play by the rules' to use a human expression."

Tuvok could not discount the possibility that Seven might cause a scene in the holodeck. He had not known her long enough yet to accurately predict her behaviour. He phrased his summary of the situation carefully.

"You were correct to bring this to me," he said, finally. "But I do not deem it appropriate or necessary in this case to disregard Commander Chakotay's wishes. You can bring this matter to the captain's attention tomorrow."

Seven quirked an eyebrow and after a lengthy pause, said "Very well."

Tuvok noted the time on the wall chronometer. "I would suggest that you proceed to holodeck two, and partake in the festivities. It may improve the efficiency of your interactions with the rest of the crew if you get to know them better."

She exhibited an expression of apprehension as she weighed his words.

"Perhaps I could take over from Ensign Tabor or Crewman Celes so that they may attend the party," she said, hopefully.

"That is a charitable thought," Tuvok said, despite believing her motivation to be self-serving. "However, the Doctor will be most displeased if you do not attend."

Seeing that she was not going to be able to persuade him, she turned towards the door. "Thank you for your time, Commander," she said, sullenly.

He followed her back on to the bridge, observing that she walked up to the turbolift at a pace that was most inefficient.


	6. Chapter 6

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Chapter six **

"So, I told her, 'Bolians are blue in all weathers, not just in the cold!' and do you know what she said?"

Chakotay shook his head as Chell rambled on, not caring to listen to the Bolian's embellished tales of youthful conquests, but finding it difficult to extricate himself politely. He missed the punchline, though Golwat certainly appreciated it, nearly choking on her hot dog as she bellowed with laughter. The Bolians had intercepted him as he made a beeline for Kathryn, who cut a solitary figure, leaning on the rails around the skating rink.

Seven of Nine had finally arrived, a couple of hours after the party had begun. The Doctor was making wild hand gestures, clearly trying to explain something to her, but she looked more interested in the holographic constellations above her head. Trust her to turn a party into an astronomy lesson. Chakotay wondered if she'd been in astrometrics all this time or if she'd been regenerating. Whenever he looked in the ex-Borg's direction, her back was to him.

Over Chell's large shoulder, Chakotay saw the holodeck doors appear, eclipsing a park bench and an evergreen shrub. The door's appearance had been triggered by the captain, who was making a stealthy escape from the holodeck. If he didn't know her better, he would have assumed she was making a temporary exit – to use the bathroom, or fetch something – but something in the set of her shoulders led him to deduce that she was calling it a night.

"Excuse me," he snapped to the portly Bolian, and made haste to follow her. She wasn't the first to leave – Samantha Wildman had carted young Naomi off to bed an hour ago – but on New Year's Eve, twenty-one thirty was far too early for the captain to be making a polite exit.

"Going already?" he called down the corridor at Kathryn's retreating form. She stopped in her tracks and he caught up to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking sheepish. "I just don't feel in a partying mood tonight." So, he'd read her intentions correctly then, but he took no satisfaction in it.

"So you're sneaking off?" he asked, once he'd checked behind him and established they were alone.

She waved off his objections. "Everyone's having a great time. I don't think anyone will mind that I've gone."

"I will," he blurted. She seemed to flush slightly. Maybe she imagined an undercurrent in his words. Or maybe it was just her heavily-clothed body reacting to the temperature differential between the frigid holodeck and the amply-heated corridor. He clarified, "I was hoping you'd come over and rescue me from Chell."

That gained him a sympathetic smile but she edged further along the corridor towards the turbolift, leaving him no choice but to follow her if he wanted to continue the conversation.

"You know, I've often thought that the crew might enjoy these parties better when the captain isn't there," she said. Chakotay's brow knitted and she elaborated. "If I'm not there they can speak more freely and not worry that I've . . . got my eye on them."

Chakotay shook his head. "I don't think anybody thinks like that. They like to see you having fun."

"But a party with the captain . . . it's like going to a party with your parents. I know I wouldn't be able to relax at a party full of Starfleet brass."

Chakotay knew he wouldn't be comfortable either in such company and not just because they'd likely have him arrested.

"Well, by that rationale, you're saying that the crew can't relax around _any_ of the senior officers, so I guess I shouldn't be there either," he reasoned.

"Well . . .no," she said, thrown. "I'm not saying you should miss out . . . It's not quite the same for you."

But she did have a point. Not that he had any doubts about the junior crewmen being comfortable socialising with the likes of Tom, B'Elanna or Harry; but the captain and first officer were a different case. Those positions demanded a constant air of authority. Even when off-duty, they couldn't afford to get too familiar with their subordinates, and as for Tuvok – well, the Vulcan could have brought solemnity to Risa.

They reached the turbolift doors, which, detecting their presence, hissed open. Chakotay didn't like the thought of her spending the rest of the evening alone, brooding in her quarters. He wasn't exactly enamoured with the idea of going back to the party alone, either.

There was an awkward pause. He'd just inadvertently come to support her point that the party might be a more casual affair without the two of them present. He wondered if their unexpected absence would cause much concern. From the rate at which Neelix's home-made mulled wine was being knocked back, perhaps not many people would notice. Chakotay only hoped the Talaxian had watered it down as much as he'd promised to, or the Doctor was going to have to administer a lot of detox hypo's in the early hours. Kathryn looked at him expectantly. He had a decision to make. To let her carry on to her quarters, or . . .

"Have a drink with me," he ventured, on impulse. "In my quarters – or yours, if you prefer."

She blinked, considering the invitation. "I appreciate the offer, really . . . and I know you're concerned about me but I just . . . I think I got out of bed the wrong side this morning, you know?"

"One drink," he pressed. "Half an hour?" And presented his most hopeful expression whilst trying not to appear needy. He was doing this for her benefit after all. She met his gaze and he thought he saw a trace of a smile forming as the corner of her mouth twitched.

"All right," she relented, her shoulders relaxing downwards. He smiled and she smiled back at him.

"My quarters then? I have something that'll warm you up."

Her eyebrows shot up. He felt the capillaries in his face snap open as he realised the unintended innuendo in his words.

"I have a bottle of something. Something special," he babbled in embarrassment. "I've been saving it for the right occasion. Tonight seems as good as any. If you'd like to join me?"

"I'm intrigued," she said.

He steadied himself with a deep breath and willed the heat in his cheeks to subside. He gestured for her to precede him into the lift. Entering its confines, she looked him up and down in mock disapproval.

"You decided to forgo the kilt, I see?" Like her, he was swaddled in several layers of modern ski apparel.

He rolled his eyes, "It didn't seem very practical."

She chuckled, "Next year, remind me to insist on Hawaii or Sydney."

She flexed her fingers then rubbed her hands together in an effort to squeeze the blood back into them. He resisted the urge to take her cold hands in his, which were perfectly warm, thanks to the herbal tea he'd just consumed. That would be pushing his luck, he decided.

They rode the turbolift up three decks and made their way down the empty corridor to his quarters.

###

Chakotay's quarters were warm; Kathryn had noted on previous occasions that he liked to keep the thermostat a degree or two above standard. Whilst her hands had yet to return to normal temperature, the rest of her body was liable to melt unless she shed some layers. Struggling with the zip, she felt a little foolish as Chakotay stepped in gallantly to help her out of her heavily padded jacket, enjoying his assistance far more than she wanted to admit.

She still felt bulky in her fleece base layers but they were made of a thermo-regulating biopolymer and should dissipate any excess body heat rapidly, hopefully before she broke out in an embarrassing sweat.

After removing his own coat, Chakotay stepped behind his desk and pulled a stout glass bottle from a drawer. He requested two whiskey glasses from the replicator and poured a small amount of liquid into each. He set the bottle down on the table, without replacing the cap and handed her a glass. She was grateful for the friction the etched ridges in the lead crystal provided. Her numb hands would have struggled to grip smooth sides. She wafted the opaque, brown liquid under her nose. It certainly smelled good, like whiskey and vanilla.

"What is it?"

He smiled. "It's called Irish cream."

Her eyebrows twitched. She liked to think of herself as an authority on all things Irish but she'd not heard of the beverage.

"Where did you get it?" Surely it wasn't replicated. It smelled too complex.

"Crewman Fitzpatrick's been experimenting in the galley. Apparently it's an old family recipe. I traded him a few hours of holodeck time for a bottle. I think you'll like it."

She was touched – flattered, in fact, that he'd trade his holodeck time for something for her, knowing of her fondness for her own Gaelic heritage. But instead of a heartfelt thank you, she opted to temper the moment with humour.

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure it's safe to drink? It smells strong."

He chuckled. "I ran a full chemical analysis just to be sure. It's perfectly safe, as long as you bear in mind the ethanol content."

She took a sip. It had a wonderfully rich flavour. "It's more like a dessert than a drink," she exclaimed, downing the rest in one. She held out her glass and he obliged her, this time pouring out a full measure and topping up his own glass a little.

"Would you like some ice?" he teased.

She pretended to glare at him, then moved to the window, cradling the glass between her hands. The day lit hemisphere of the planet was currently in view, mainly comprised of ocean, and it imparted a vivid blue glow into the room.

She sighed. "It's as if it was put there to taunt me, Chakotay," she said, taking another sip of her drink and appreciating the warmth it engendered. The colour was starting to return to her extremities. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "What are the chances of us finding this planet, so Earth-like, a week after we were so close to getting home to the real thing?"

"It is a strange coincidence," he replied.

"It's hypnotic," she said, wistfully. "Is it just me that finds it so?"

"No. It is very beautiful," he remarked, moving to her side. "On the surface as well as from space." She let his little dig about her staying on the ship go, without reaction.

"Painfully beautiful," she said and drew her empty hand into a fist, raising it to her sternum. "Looking at it, I feel something here. Something . . . uncomfortable." A mix of nostalgia and regret, if she'd had to put it into words.

"Then don't look at it," he told her. "Come and sit down." But her eyes were back to the window, gripped by an unhealthy compulsion.

"Kathryn!"

She felt Chakotay's firm hand on her elbow and wondered if he realised how much power he held over her with the use of her given name; the name that only he on the entire ship would address her by, and then so infrequently.

She let him lead her to the sofa. He released her elbow, waited for her to sit and then did likewise, leaving a comfortable gap between them.

He turned towards her, casually bringing a knee up under himself. "Do you wish we hadn't taken this detour?"

She shook her head. "No. We needed the minerals and the seeds we harvested will provide Neelix with plenty of edible plant materials." She smiled. "Maybe we can reduce his dependence on leola root."

Chakotay smiled broadly back at her.

"And," she said, more seriously, "it was good advice to let the crew take some shore leave." She left her gratitude unspoken, again. Surely he knew how much she appreciated him.

"But you'll feel better once we're 'back on the road'." It was more of a statement than a question. Sometimes she wondered if he wasn't a little telepathic. He'd just paraphrased part of her personal log entry from that morning.

"Yes," she told him. "At least I hope I will."

She should have kept that last part to herself. There it was again – the same look of worry on his face as earlier in her ready room and a trace of something else; was it guilt? Without taking his eyes off her, he took a sip of his drink.

"Do you want to talk about what's been bothering you these last couple of days?"

She considered. It was vitally important to her that she never show indecisiveness or doubt in herself to the crew. It happened on occasion, and every time she harangued herself for it afterwards. Chakotay and Tuvok were the only two people on the ship she could talk openly with about her fears without losing face.

Tuvok didn't always understand, though he listened with tolerance and offered her the wisdom of his long years of experience. Since her letter from Mark and her acknowledgement that she no longer had an emotional 'safety net', she'd been wary of getting into any deep and meaningful conversations with Chakotay. She was still getting her head around the implications of her new status. She might be officially single, but she was still the captain and that wasn't going to change.

Right now, however, she needed an outlet for the thoughts that had been churning around her head. The same thoughts that plagued her every few months, that she'd manage to suppress for a time until they intruded again. Chakotay had made himself available to listen; she might as well take the opportunity.

"Well . . ." Unsure how to start, she struggled to phrase her thoughts in a way that would make sense. She looked into her glass, as if the muddy liquid would inspire her.

"When I think of all the people we've lost in just four years . . ." she began. ". . . If we carry on losing people at that rate, we'll be struggling to run the ship before we're even halfway home." He waited for her to elaborate, reminding her of the infinitely patient counsellor she'd been ordered to speak to, years ago on the _Billings _after the survey incident.

"Sixty more years out here. . ." She shook her head in frustration. In her mind, she had a coherent discourse but she couldn't voice it, resorting to: "I hoped the slipstream drive would be the answer . . . I have to get this ship home faster than that."

When she said nothing further after a few moments, he spoke.

"You're assuming that the quickest route home would entail the least losses, but that's not necessarily the case." He went on. "The quickest route may not be the safest. Maybe it's better to avoid short-cuts, avoid risky technology or dealing with hostile species. If it takes us a little longer to get back . . . in the grand scheme of things, does a leap forward of a few months here and there make that much difference?"

She snapped, "A few months, even a few days could mean the difference between seeing an elderly relative again, or watching a child grow up . . . or having a spouse not give up and move on."

Her last point was a personal one and he knew it. He'd flinched when she'd said it. She patted his knee lightly, wanting him to know that she wasn't as angry as her tone had conveyed. He was only helping her evaluate the options – that's what first officers (and friends) were for. Her situation – with Mark - was already decided. Her concerns now had to focus on the other crew members and their loved ones in a similar situation.

"You're right though," she allowed, "about the quickest route not always being the right one." She pondered silently for a moment, then joked, "You're not going to tell me the fable of the hare and the tortoise, are you? Because I already know it." Then she wondered how he would take the comment, given the fraught history associated with his proclivity for illustrating a point with ancient legends. Thankfully, he smiled and with a sparkle in his eyes said, "I wasn't actually, but now you mention it . . ."

She groaned.

"I am reminded of something my father used to say." He paused, stared into nothingness as he remembered. "'A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare'."

She didn't recognise the quotation. "Where's that from?"

"An old Earth poem."

She made a mental note to look it up in the ship's library.

"I know we can't spend twenty-four hours a day, every day, solely focused on getting home. Nobody can live like that." She finished the contents of her glass. "But how do I find the right balance? Between exploration – what _Voyager_ was designed for – and getting home?"

She knew there were often disagreements among the crew as to whether _Voyager_ should be making so many detours and getting so involved in local affairs. But it was a trade-off between the benefit of new alliances and helpful discoveries, and the risk of making enemies and wasting time.

"There is no magic formula," he said, draining his own glass. "_We_ make the best of the opportunities we're presented with as they come along."

They spoke along those lines for many minutes – she voicing her anxieties as best she could articulate them, and he presenting alternate viewpoints and offering solid reassurance that whatever befell them, he would support her in any way he could. If _Voyager_ had been allocated a ship's counsellor, Kathryn doubted that they could have offered better advice than Chakotay.

He got up to fetch the bottle of liqueur from his desk. Without checking the time, Kathryn knew that half an hour had to have passed already, but she found she had no desire to leave just yet.

She relaxed back into the cushions. When she'd sneaked out of the party, the only thought in her head had been to get back to her quarters, run a hot, full bath and soak until her skin wrinkled. Chakotay's sofa wasn't quite as relaxing under her back as soapy water, but it came a close second.

"Another drink?" he offered, returning with the bottle.

She hefted the weight of the empty glass in her hand. Surely the alcohol from the first measure must be on its way out of her system by now. She didn't feel remotely tipsy.

"Sure, why not?"

He refilled both their glasses.

"To twenty-three seventy-five," he proposed, raising his glass to her. They clinked glasses.

###

"Twenty-three seventy-four was a hell of a year," Kathryn reminisced. "The Borg, the Srivani, the Hirogen . . . I hope we've seen the last of them."

"At least we got something out of the Hirogen," Chakotay said. "Without their subspace relay network, we'd still not have made contact with Starfleet." Not that all the news had been good. But in most cases, the not knowing had been worse.

"Yes, but losing Ensign Ballard to that hunting party was a high price to pay," she said, sadly. "And we liberated Seven from the Borg, only to lose Kes a few days later."

Chakotay deftly changed the subject, wanting to steer her away from the subject of losses onto more cheerful ground.

"This last year wasn't all bad. Tom and B'Elanna finally got together," he said.

"And all it took was a near-death experience," she quipped. Then her expression softened. "Do you think it'll last?" she asked him, clarifying, "Tom and B'Elanna, I mean."

"I do, actually," he answered, smiling. "Three years ago I'd never have believed that they'd become a couple. But they've both changed so much – Tom especially."

"Well, I certainly hope it lasts. I don't want to have to deal with the fall-out if it doesn't," she said with a slight frown.

"They're both adults. If it doesn't work out they'll get over it," he countered, and found he was no longer thinking solely of Tom and B'Elanna. He wondered whether she was too. She raised an eyebrow.

"Ok," he admitted, "so it would be awkward for a while. But it's a moot point. They'll be fine."

She fidgeted on the sofa. "It's not as if they work in the same department. They would have nine decks between them most of the time," she mused, managing to seamlessly blend optimism into her pessimistic outlook.

"You're being negative again," he admonished.

"I am. I'm sorry." She raised her glass again. "To twenty-three seventy-five – a year to look forward to."

He touched his glass to hers and their fingers brushed for a second. She was the first to pull her hand back to her lap.

"Speaking of looking forward," he said. "Have you made any New Year's resolutions yet?"

She smirked. "I'm not going to give up coffee, if that's what you're asking!"

He chuckled. "No, I wouldn't have expected that." He grew serious for a moment. It wasn't an appropriate time to say what he really wanted to. Not today. But perhaps he could plant a general idea . . .

He said, "But you don't have to give up anything; you could resolve to . . . try something new."

She gave him a questioning stare. "Such as?"

"How about something relaxing? A hobby or-"

"I have hobbies."

"I don't imagine playing velocity with Seven is very relaxing."

"Well, no," she conceded. "Seven doesn't like to lose. But I have my holonovels. . . I read. . . I have dinner with you."

"We haven't had a meal together for weeks," he reminded her.

"No. I guess we've got out of the habit." She touched his knee casually with her free hand. "How about Sunday evening?"

He smiled. "Great. It's a d. . . deal." He noted that her hand lingered on his leg. She saw him look down and lifted her hand away.

"How about you? Any resolutions?"

He had the same one in mind as he'd had the previous two Decembers.

"I plan to have dinner with the captain every Sunday night," he said, boldly. It was the truth, if not in its entirety.

She laughed. "Then I'd better make sure I keep Sunday nights free. I don't want to be held responsible if you can't stick to it."

* * *

A/N: quotation is from the poem _Leisure _by the Welsh poet W.H. Davies


	7. Chapter 7

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Chapter seven**

"Campfire camaraderie," Neelix called it. His theory was that in huddling together around a fire for warmth, beings bonded in a way that they didn't in a dining room or on a dance floor; as if the warm glow of the burning wood suffused hearts and minds with a sense of belonging and friendship.

B'Elanna couldn't disagree; she'd made her fair share of friends in the Maquis, sitting around a fire in a makeshift camp, sharing stories and hatching battle plans. She also had less fond memories; a particularly unpleasant camping trip with her father, uncle and cousins, years ago as a child. But why Tom couldn't have programmed a beach bonfire on a tropical island was beyond her. She hated the cold. She wished her Klingon physiology didn't dominate when it came to weather tolerance.

"I wish Lyndsay could have seen this," Harry was telling Tom. "You know she taught me to skate? At the academy?" Harry had lost a good friend when Lyndsay Ballard had been killed on an away mission. He'd been very emotional at the funeral. All that crying – all it did was make your eyes sore.

"Have you seen the captain anywhere?" Tom said, his words barely decipherable through the mouthful of hamburger he'd just ingested, having clearly worked up quite an appetite on the ice rink.

"Not for a while," Harry answered his friend, "What's up?"

B'Elanna, standing beside Harry, looked up from the bag of French fries she was picking at and scanned the crowds.

"I was hoping she'd start off the firework display," Tom explained.

"Maybe she got called away," Harry suggested.

B'Elanna finished her perusal. There was no sign of Chakotay either.

Tom turned about and called up to the serving hatch, "Have you seen Captain Janeway?"

Neelix leaned out of the hatch, his bushy eyebrows tilted inwards. "I'm sorry, Tom. I haven't. Here." The Talaxian passed Tom the microphone he'd been using to advertise his wares over the public address system. B'Elanna moved briskly to intercept it and forced it back into Neelix's hand.

"Wait a minute," she ordered, simultaneously tapping her combadge as she did so.

"Torres to Janeway," she called and waited. There was no response. "I saw her leave the holodeck a while ago," she explained to her companions, "but I haven't seen her since."

"Computer, locate Captain Janeway," Tom requested, impatiently.

"_Captain Janeway is on deck three, sub-section one beta._"

"Hmmph," Tom raised an eyebrow and looked at B'Elanna. "Isn't that-"

"Commander Chakotay's quarters," Harry butted in.

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen him lately either," Tom said. "Computer, locate Commander Chakotay."

"_Commander Chakotay is in his quarters._"

Tom smirked. B'Elanna scowled at him. She knew what he was thinking. _Maybe the captain's getting her fireworks elsewhere this evening. _Something along those lines. He didn't say it aloud though.

"They visit each others quarters all the time," she pointed out. But she had to admit, given the circumstances, it did seem a little strange.

"Do you think they're ok?" Neelix fretted.

"I'm sure they're fine, Neelix," Tom assured him, his smirk broadening into a silly grin.

"Maybe we should check?" Harry suggested, "I mean, she didn't answer her combadge. That's odd, right?"

B'Elanna took over. "Just leave it," she warned the men. "Neelix, I think you should do the honours and light the first firework." Tom and Harry muttered their approval and Neelix beamed with pride.

B'Elanna resumed eating as Neelix pulled off his apron and emerged from the doorway of the little van. There'd been speculation about the command team's relationship since New Earth and it was no secret that the captain's fiancé had given her up for dead and married another woman. If Janeway and Chakotay were finding solace in each other, B'Elanna was happy for them, but it was nobody's business but their own. Chakotay had given her no indication that his relationship with the captain had changed. Then again, she supposed, he'd want to keep it under wraps if it had. She remembered how mortified he'd been when his fling with Seska had become common knowledge, and that had been over long before they'd ended up on _Voyager_. As the deep boom of the first rocket exploding jolted her attention upwards, she didn't give the command team's absence another thought.


	8. Chapter 8

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Chapter eight **

It was the best use of an evening she could have had, Janeway decided. Far more therapeutic than an early night. Their two whiskey tumblers sat empty on the table. They'd chatted for an hour, Chakotay filling her in on the choicest gossip from the lower decks that had filtered up the ranks to him. No doubt there were things he was omitting - or sugar-coating - and no doubt B'Elanna, Tom and Chakotay's other sources had done the same in turn. But their resilient crew were thriving, despite the latest rise and fall in fortunes.

"Tom certainly knows how to give people a good time," Chakotay said, as the topic of conversation moved on to the events of the day.

She giggled. "Did you see the Bolian bagpipe player?"

"Saw him and most definitely heard him."

"He looked ridiculous!"

"Well, in my experience, most Bolians are full of wind," he said with a straight face, and that made her laugh all the more, even though she wasn't sure if he was referring to the Bolian propensity to complain or their digestive habits.

"That's wicked!" she admonished playfully, when she eventually regained her composure, face and stomach muscles aching pleasantly.

"You're the one that's laughing," he protested, a broad grin lighting up his face.

Kathryn wiped her eyes dry with her sleeve, still smiling. "I really needed that," she said. "I haven't laughed so much in ages." A wave of gratitude washed over her. "Thank you," she said, warmly.

She leaned over, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder. She intended to give him a peck on the cheek, a friendly, innocent gesture of gratitude even if it was stretching the limitations of physical contact that they'd previously abided by. But as she got close, he turned his face towards hers and lowered his chin.

She could have pulled back but she didn't. Instead, she continued to close the distance between them, hesitating only at the last moment, when mere millimetres separated them.

Instinctively, she closed her eyes. She felt his hands take hold of her shoulders and he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss began like the liqueur they'd been drinking, intensely sweet, yet not overpowering. Then it kicked in. Sensitised as she was by four years of self-denial, her heart raced and her pulse drummed in her ears. She slid her hand up his neck to brush the cheek that had been her intended target. Her thumb rested on his cheek as her fingers curled around his ear and into his hair. She became aware of the barely coherent thought that she wasn't getting enough oxygen through her nose. That would explain the dizziness and the fact that her sensory perception had shrunk down so that her only awareness was of his mouth on hers, his warm skin beneath her fingers and his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. When he broke away, one hand gently peeling her fingers from his face, it was jarring.

"I'm sorry," he said breathlessly, releasing her other shoulder, then her hand, and leaning back from her. She inhaled a lungful of air and blinked away the haze in which she'd found herself.

"You are?" she asked, sceptically. Maybe she was being presumptuous, but she'd never considered that if they found themselves in this situation that he would be the one to retreat.

He sighed. "No, not really. But that wasn't quite what you intended, was it?"

It was far better than what she'd intended.

"Why did you stop?" she murmured. One taste wasn't enough. She wanted more and the potency of her feelings surprised her.

He looked confused, running a hand through his hair. "If I hadn't . . . you would have."

She raised her palms to her flushed cheeks, fingertips kneading her temples, the heels of her hands pressing into her jaw.

"Would I?" She looked directly at him. He met her gaze. The question hung in the air, dangerously flirtatious. The truth was, she wasn't sure. She'd spent many sleepless nights, alone and frustrated, trying to get off to sleep before the morning, her mind conjuring up scenarios that she didn't allow herself to indulge in when fully alert. Scenarios that started with a kiss. . .

He looked down and cautiously reached for her hand, taking it between his own.

"I don't want you to think I asked you here for any other reason than to . . . cheer you up," he said, carefully.

"Well, I feel pretty good right now," she quipped, without considering the sensibility of her words.

His eyes widened. He studied her, his eyes flickered to the empty glasses on the table and back again. Was he estimating her sobriety?

"We should revisit this with clearer heads," he said, softly.

She took a long moment before speaking. It was a sensible suggestion, the other alternatives being to forget it had happened at all, or . . . She willed herself back into captain mode. "Agreed." After taking a brief moment to savour his touch, she slowly claimed back her hand. She stood and rested her hands on her thighs, wondering how best to proceed. There was one solution that she knew solved many a problem.

"May I?" she said, gesturing towards the replicator on the far wall.

He nodded. "Of course."

She headed for the replicator. Not at all wobbly. Perfectly in control of her faculties. Still . . .

She ordered. "Coffee. Black. Double-strong."

"Better make that two," he called out to her.

She rejoined him on the sofa. A few minutes of muddled small-talk later and the coffee was working its magic.

Chakotay looked at his wall chronometer. ""It's fifteen minutes to midnight," he said. "We could go back to the party?"

Kathryn hadn't given any thought earlier to how the absence of both her and Chakotay from the party would look, but now – and maybe it was due to a guilty conscience – perhaps it would be wise to show their faces before the night was over.

She nodded. "Good idea."

She retrieved her discarded outerwear, and seeing the combadge pinned to her coat reminded her of their earlier conversation.

"Damn," she cursed. "You know, I never got my combadge fixed. You go on, I'll swing by stores and get myself a new one."

By the time she joined him in the holodeck, the ten second countdown had begun.


	9. Epilogue

******Disclaimer – Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS not me. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

Tom didn't know at what time Janeway and Chakotay had slipped back in, but as a disembodied clock chimed midnight, there they were, shaking hands and clapping shoulders with the rest of them. One thing was for sure: he was going to be keeping a very close eye on the captain and first officer from now on.

When Tom hugged B'Elanna tightly she flinched, but he had no time to think about it as Neelix grabbed him from behind and whirled him around. Twenty minutes later, the last stragglers filed out of the holodeck, some carrying plates of leftover food. Tom and B'Elanna rode the turbolift to deck four, bade Harry farewell and walked the short distance to Tom's quarters, which were en route to B'Elanna's own.

"Well, good night," B'Elanna wished Tom, formally, and made to leave.

"Hey," he protested, reaching gently for her hand. "Aren't you gonna come in?"

She drew away from him. "Not tonight, Tom. It's late and I'm tired."

"I wasn't suggesting we do anything other than sleep," he asserted, slightly hurt by the repeated rejection he'd been getting from her all evening.

"But if I stay over, I'll have to get up extra early to fetch my uniform," she contended.

It was a feeble excuse. It would only take her two minutes to get to her quarters from his. Tom began to formulate a retort, then decided he was too beat to get embroiled in a debate with her.

"All right," he said, keeping his tone casual. "Sleep well."

"You too." She gave him a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes.

He watched her walk off down the corridor and with a shake of his head stepped into his quarters, the door hissing shut behind him. Was he missing something obvious? No, he decided. No point in reading too much into her crankiness. Hopefully, by tomorrow, today's mood would be forgotten.

* * *

In the solitude of her quarters, B'Elanna undressed. Gingerly getting down on her knees, she stretched her arm under the bed and pulled out a bundle of clothing. Unfolding the material, she found the three medical devices concealed within. She left the dermal regenerator where it lay, picked up the medical tricorder and the osteogenic stimulator and inexpertly continued the treatment of her broken ribs. They hurt like hell, but, she thought with grim satisfaction, the Cardassian holograms had fared far worse.

* * *

Chakotay kicked off his boots and slumped onto his sofa. He stared at the bottle of Irish Cream on the table with mixed feelings, debating whether Crewman Fitzpatrick deserved a commendation or a week scrubbing plasma conduits. Finally – finally! - what he'd wanted for over two years had happened and yet he'd felt obligated to stop it.

When she'd leaned over to kiss him, he was surprised. She'd patted him on the back or the arm more times than he could recall – but she was like that with everyone on the crew. Her palm on his chest or face – he believed those touches were reserved for him only; but she'd never kissed him, not even platonically. So without even conscious decision, he'd made it more than she'd intended and her response had managed to both thrill and alarm him.

If – when – anything further were to happen between them, he didn't want her having second thoughts the next day and having the option to excuse her actions as a consequence of alcohol intake or a desire for comfort. Not that he thought for a moment that either of them had drunk enough to dull their wits, but it had certainly lowered their inhibitions. No, the next time they were off duty and alone, he wanted them both to be stone, cold sober, inhibitions be damned. He was only serving synthehol from now on.

He had five days until Sunday evening. Five days to think about the best way forward and hope that nothing cropped up to set things back. His confrontation with Seven, pushed to the back of his mind, intruded unpleasantly. He hoped that his decision not to tell Kathryn about the sensor issue wasn't going to cause any bad feeling. Still, a year ago, _Voyager_ didn't even have a dedicated astrometrics lab. The mapping capabilities they had now far surpassed what they'd relied upon in the past, even if astrometrics wasn't running to capacity.

The discarded glasses stood one on each side of the bottle in front of him. In his current state of mind, the triptych looked a little suggestive. He'd have to do something about that. Sighing, he rose to clear them away, taking them back to the replicator for recycling. He noticed a faint lipstick mark on the glass that Kathryn had been drinking from. Automatically, he raised a hand to his lips and hoped he hadn't been walking around with evidence plain on his face.

The bathroom mirror would show him on his way to a cold shower.

* * *

Tired as she was, Janeway could not sleep. But it wasn't disappointment and self-reproach that kept her awake in the early hours of 2375; it was hope. Not the same hope that she had harboured a week ago, that the journey might soon be over. Now it was hope that the journey might soon become a lot more bearable – if she let it. A hope of brighter skies ahead.

She got out of bed, threw on her robe and without calling for the lights, stepped out into the living area to the computer.

"Computer, begin personal log, stardate 52000.2."

She could think of a New Year's resolution, after all.


End file.
